


Hallelujah

by mishaminion69



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Pining Dean Winchester, Spoilers, man tears, post 15x18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27492298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishaminion69/pseuds/mishaminion69
Summary: Coda for 15x18, contains spoilers
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 186
Collections: SPN Finale "Destiel is CANON" Collection





	Hallelujah

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not necessarily coming back to writing, but I saw the episode and felt the need to do this. It's nearly impossible for me to write about love since it's done nothing but cause me pain. But I wanted to give Dean is happy ending. I have no idea if this particular idea has been done and I'm sorry if it's a little rough. Hope you enjoy.

_Love is not a victory march,  
_

_it's a cold and it's a broken_

_Hallelujah._

**_“I’ve got you.”_ **

Dean swallowed hard, eyes squeezed shut. His fingers clenched, digging into the canvas material. He worked to breathe. In and out. Painful gasps. Heart pounding, drumming in his ears, as if he were running for his life. And maybe he was. Though he sat completely still, he was running. Away from the words echoing in his head, from the reality that was slowly crushing him, from the pain that was clawing him from the inside out.

He gasped for air, desperately trying to get his lungs working. His eyes fluttered open and he stared down at the bloody handprint. His vision blurred, tears burning and running down. Dean had stopped trying to wipe them away hours ago.

Dean could still feel Castiel’s hands on him. Strong, assuring, guiding and holding him up as they both stumbled down the hallway. He could still feel the phantom grip around his heart, Billie slowly squeezing the life out of him. He could hear Cas’s breathing, heavy and labored, feel it on his neck and ear.

If he had _known._ If only Dean had _known_ those would be his last moments with the angel…

Would he have done any different?

Dean grit his teeth, his head bending forward as he presses his face into the bloody stain. No, he wouldn’t have. Because he was a fucking coward. Because he ran away from anything that was real. Cas had always been there.

**_“I’ve got you.”_ **

Cas always had him. Caught him, held him up, pulled him out. Dean had selfishly thought the angel would always be there. Never spent the time to really savor each moment. Never said the words that needed to be said but ones that he could barely even think in the privacy of his own mind.

**_“I wondered what it could be.”_ **

Dean squeezed his eyes shut again, willing the words to stop repeating and knowing that they would forever haunt him now. For however long he had left.

**_“What my true happiness could even look like.”_ **

He looked at the handprint again and thought-wished-for just a moment that he could feel the scar on his shoulder tingle. Dean’s eyes searched desperately, knowing the room was empty save for himself, but not being able to help himself. The scar only tingled when Cas was nearby, when those eyes were on him. But it was quiet. He was alone. Cas was gone.

**_“Because the one thing I want…”_ **

Dean choked on a sob, clawing for air, shaking his head in denial. Desperation.

**_“It’s something I know I can’t have.”_ **

Dean, broken and brittle, cast out a desperate prayer. Loud, jumbled, reeking with his pathetic emotions as they overcame and flooded his mind. He sent it to Cas, to the angels, the Empty, to anyone listening.

“Please,” he gasped, his throat raw, “just-please, I n-need him…I need you, Cas. Cas… _Cas_ …fuck, Cas, I love you too…”

\---

It seemed Chuck’s final revenge was leaving them with their failure.

The earth was empty of humans save for him, Sammy, and Jack. It was impossible to confirm 100%, but after several days of endless driving through empty town after empty town they finally had to accept that they were all that was left.

They waited with baited breath for the next blow to come. Meteors, super volcanoes, the sky on fire. Something. Anything. A week went by. A month.

And nothing.

Dean finally concluded that this was it for them. Chuck knew that the worst thing he could do to them was to let them stew for the rest of their lives. To make them live out the time they had left in their failure, to live in a constant reminder that despite all they had done, everyone they had saved, it never mattered in the end. Everyone was gone, vanished, dead, ceased to exist.

Sam refused to accept it. He spent hours pouring through every book they had. Looking over every artifact. Jack was beside him, combing and researching. Dean was convinced it was waste of time, but he never argued over it. He had no energy. Let them hang onto whatever hope they had left. Who was he to take that away?

For his part, Dean never participated in these study sessions. Any time Sam thought he had a lead, Dean stayed behind. He wandered the empty hallways, blank eyes sliding past the doors and the cinderblocks. Sam, kind Sammy, never pushed. He always offered for Dean to come with him and Jack, and Dean always said no. And Sammy always understood. He had accepted that Dean didn’t have any fight left him. His big brother had given up.

\---

Sleeping was difficult. Dean dreamed. Fantasies and nightmares mingled together in a grotesque form of his own personal hell.

**_“Happiness isn’t in the having.”_ **

Cas’s hands would be on him. Softly. Touching and caressing, seemingly everywhere at once. Those blue eyes would be glowing, with grace and with love, seeing right into his soul.

**_“It’s in just being.”_ **

Sometimes Dean swore he saw the trueform, despite knowing it’s impossible. There would be wings. Huge, black, shimmering with colors he’s never seen before. Eyes, hundreds of them. Multiple arms, hands tipped with claws that handled him so gently. Broken horns, shimmering grace, feathers surrounding him.

**_“It’s in just saying it.”_ **

Cas would whisper those three words that simultaneously terrify and exhilarate Dean. Over and over the angel would say this as he touched, worshiped, kissed, loved him until Dean was a whimpering mess.

**_“Goodbye, Dean.”_ **

Suddenly it would morph. Blackness would come creeping from the corners, ugly goo that latched onto Cas and pulled him away. Dean would cry out, reach for Cas, but it was never enough. He would pull and scramble and plead, but the blackness would swallow Cas up and a cold voice would laugh.

**_“There is nothing for you back there.”_ **

Dean would wake then, cold and sweating, screaming Castiel’s name. That laugh echoing in his mind and the scar on his shoulder throbbing.

\---

Day-to-day living became a chore of sorts. When you were last ones on earth it became glaringly obvious that people were actually necessary to keep the world as they knew it working. Luckily, the bunker had its own power source. Unluckily, it couldn’t make food for the boys. With nothing else to occupy his time, Dean made it his duty to keep the three of them fed. Sam and Jack were so busy trying to fix things, Dean admittedly felt like shit for not doing his part.

He foraged around the empty towns nearby, hunting down army surplus stores and taking anything edible. He cleaned out grocery stores of anything that had a long shelf life, ignoring the smells of rotten food and the swarms of rats.

Wildlife was slowly taking over. He had avoid the deer, the wolves, bears, and other various animals as he drove down abandoned roads. At first it was eerie, but Dean quickly got used to the quiet and emptiness.

\---

Dean lost track of the days. Months passed. Maybe even years. It didn’t matter. It all felt the same to him.

\---

“I’m worried about you,” Same said, sitting across from him in the kitchen.

“I’m fine,” Dean replied, chewing robotically over his army issued lasagna.

“You aren’t sleeping,” Sam pressed. “I can hear you at night. If you aren’t screaming Ca-“

Dean’s eyes snapped up, glaring so hard and fast that Sam stopped, swallowed.

“-then you’re walking around the hallways,” he murmured after a moment’s paused, visibly relaxing when Dean went back to his food. “You’re losing weight.”

“You expect anyone to keep their weight up on this crap?” Dean scoffed, motioning at his food.

Sam just raised a brow. He didn’t need to argue. He knew he was right. Thing was, Dean didn’t care.

“I’m fine,” Dean repeated. Sam sighed.

“Dean,” he said softly, “I know how it feels. Eileen-“

“Don’t.” Dean stood up abruptly, leaving his food half eaten, and walked out of the room. Sam didn’t follow.

\---

**_“I know how you see yourself.”_**

It haunted him, the memory. Dean relived it over and over. He wanted to turn away, run, but Cas’s eyes held him. Dean was falling in them and he couldn’t stop himself.

**_“You see yourself the same way your enemies see you.”_**

Dean tried backing away, but Cas just followed. He backed into a wall, trapped.

**_“You’re destructive, and angry and you’re broken.”_**

Dean shook, starting to slide down the wall as his knees gave out. Broken. Shattered to pieces without any hope of being put back together. Cas no idea how truly broken he really was.

**_“You’re ‘Daddy’s Blunt Instrument’.”_**

Yes, that’s all he was good for. The weapon. The killer.

**_“And you think hate and anger, that’s what drives you. That’s who you are.”_**

Dean sobbed, arms hugging his knees, shoulders hunched as he tried to hide from Cas’s gaze. The angel was in front of him, kneeling, forcing their eyes to meet. They were beautiful. Cas’s eyes were beautiful.

**_“It’s not.”_**

It was a lie. It had to be. Dean only knew hate and anger. He had nothing else in him anymore. Nothing else to offer anyone, especially someone like Cas.

**_“You’re the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know.”_**

Dean’s breath caught as Cas reached out, cupping his cheek. Dean could feel the warmth. It was too real. Too much. His scar tingled and throbbed.

**_“I love you.”_**

Dean woke up, his face damp, his cheek warm and his scar still tingling. He clutched at his chest, feeling his heart, and stared up at the ceiling.

_“Cas..”_

\---

The bunker had dozens of rooms and several floors. They had never had the opportunity to explore these rooms and all the secrets they might hold. Sam and Jack were slowly working their way through these, but it was slow going. Everything had to be handled carefully and many artifacts and documents were written in languages that were long dead.

Dean found his way down to what he dubbed the basement level. It was dark, dingy, and smelled faintly of mildew. There weren’t too many doors on this level. One room held what had clearly been food reserves, enough to feed dozens of men for years. Unfortunately, most of it was long past the date. Dean closed the door and tried the next. Various cleaning supplies and hygienic products. The next held old uniforms of varying styles and sizes. They were all embroidered with the Men of Letters insignia and the fibers were more or less falling apart.

The final room gave Dean pause. It looked to be a regular storage room, filled with boxes and file cabinets and chests. Some labeled, most not. The light flicked on weakly, casting the small room in a dingy and yellowed atmosphere. Dean stood in the doorway, looking at the dust and cobwebs. He rolled up the sleeves of his flannel and started digging.

\---

Sam never asked Dean why or for what he was looking for. Dean was grateful, because he didn’t know the answer to that. Sometimes he came down to help, showing Dean everything he found and putting it away when Dean waved it off. Jack came down too, curious and ever eager to help. It was then that Dean learned Jack’s powers were slowly returning. He touched artifacts, feeling for any sort of spark of power or magic. This was all mostly done in silence, starting and stopping only under Dean’s discretion. No questions asked. Dean was always too choked up to thank them, but they never seemed to mind.

\---

Late one night had Dean bowed over a dusty old book written in Latin, a beer in his hand as he slowly and painfully read over the text. Sam was beside him, carefully examining a small statue.

“You’ve changed,” he said simply, eyes still on the statue.

Dean didn’t answer for a long while and Sam didn’t seem to expect it. They labored over their work, looking for something-anything-and when Dean finally spoke it was with a rough voice.

“Only cowards give up on the ones they love, Sammy.”

\---

Dean was convinced his dreams were not dreams at all, but Castiel reaching from the Empty. He didn’t pose his theory to Sam or Jack, too afraid that voicing it would snap the fragile string of hope he was clinging to. It could very well, and very likely, be wishful thinking. His mind slowly breaking and falling apart, going insane from the loss and pain. But Dean figured he had nothing else to lose.

He went to sleep with a mission in mind. Despite the fear that the fantasy would inevitably turn to nightmare, he showed no hesitation. Castiel was trying to speak to him. He had to believe that, and he had to speak back, reach back for the angel and somehow pull him through.

He sent his prayers through his dreams, screaming for Castiel, screaming the words he should have said long ago.

“I love you,” Dean shouted, his voice murky, as if under water. There was nothing but black, but he paid his surroundings no mind. He focused on reaching for Cas, his scar tingling. Sometimes Cas could reach back, human or trueform, neither mattered to Dean.

**_“Dean…”_**

He could feel hands on him, feathers, light kisses. He grasped at these desperately, holding onto Cas with all strength. The black would pulsate around them, rippling, grabbing at Cas. Dean held on through it all.

“I’m coming for you,” he told Cas fervently. “You hear me? I’m coming for you.”

\---

“We’re gonna get her back, Sammy.”

Sam’s head snapped up. He’d been reading, forever searching for the answer. Dean’s eyes were on him, his own book forgotten for a moment.

“We’ll get Eileen back,” Dean said firmly. “We’ll get them all back.”

\---

The answer came not from a book, or artifact, or some obscure spell. It came from Jack staring at Dean intently, his face screwed up in that curious look of his. Dean could feel the eyes on him and finally looked up from a book, frowning at the boy.

“What’s your deal, kid?” he barked, feeling self-conscious.

“Please take off your shirt.”

Dean blinked, his face reddening. “What?”

Jack stepped close and tilted his head. “Your shirt. Take it off.”

Dean stared at Jack before slowly standing from his chair. He spared a glance at Sam who looked just as confused. Finally he shrugged and removed the Henley, leaving his torso bare. Jack approached and his eyes went straight to the scar, faded now but still present. He slowly placed his hand over it, lining his fingers up with the marks from Cas’s all those years ago. Dean flinched but didn’t pull away, standing stiff with his jaw clenched.

“There’s something here,” Jack said.

“It’s…from Cas,” Dean choked, swallowing thickly. “When he pulled he from Hell.”

“He pulled from Sam from Hell too,” Jack said, looking to Sam who nodded slowly.

“Uh, yeah, he did I guess,” Sam shrugged, frowning. “Why do you bring it up?”

“You don’t have a mark,” Jack replied, turning his attention back to the scar. Sam went quiet, his mind turning. Dean was silent too, watching Jack intently.

“This is…something else,” Jack murmured, closing his eyes, hand pressing harder onto the scar. Dean shivered, feeling it tingle and throb. “A connection. A…claim.”

Dean swallowed again. “What do you mean?”

“It’s like a brand,” Jack said, opening his eyes and tilting his head curiously. “I can feel his grace. Castiel told me once that angel grace eventually fades away when separated from the angel. This should have been long gone, but it’s still here. Strong as ever. It’s…connected to you. Attached itself to the soul.”

“How do you…?”

“I can see it,” Jack shrugged, finally stepping away. “It’s completely integrated into you. Even if you wanted to separate the two, you couldn’t. Your soul, his grace, they’ve become one.”

Dean stared at Jack, his heart racing. “So what does that mean?”

“I don’t know yet,” Jack replied, “but I think we can use it.”

\---

When it was all said and done, Dean looked back and could almost laugh at how simple it all had been.

As he blubbered and sobbed and clung to Cas, the _real_ Cas, he had to fight from laughing hysterically. Cas held him, warm and solid and _there_ , his scruff scratching Dean’s cheek. Dean was unaware of anything else and he had no idea what he was saying, but Cas seemed to understand his broken ramblings and apologies.

“I’m so sorry I gave up,” Dean sobbed. “You can have it, Cas. _Of course_ you can have it.”

Cas held him through it all, kissing his cheeks, his lips, one hand firmly on the scar that ended up being the key. As it turned out, an angel laying a claim on a soul was a powerful thing and not even the Empty could fight against it when that claim was called. Not when said claim was backed by a soul so strong that not even God himself was able to destroy it.

Dean fell to his knees and Cas followed him, arms around him, strong and sure.

“I’ve got you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Work is not beta'd. All mistakes are my own.


End file.
